


Gentle Sins

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Speak of the Devil [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossover, Explicit Consent, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Negotiations, POV Stiles, Scarred Stiles, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: His stomach sinks. He feels immeasurably stupid. “I should’ve fucking known.” He’s so deep in his disappointment that he doesn’t register the way Lucifer’s head snaps round to him. “I mean, yeah, no, why would you want that with me?” He meets the bemused gaze. “So, c’mon then, out with it. What did you actually want me for? If its bait, good fucking luck to you, my pack isn’t expecting me back for weeks, and if it’s my magic, wow did you ever pick the wrong person to try and con. I know it’s not my soul, if you even actually trade in those, because I’m pretty sure it’s gonna wind up in your hands eventually.”“While I quite enjoy your fire—there’s not many who would cuss the devil out to his face—I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.”





	Gentle Sins

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a PWP. *laughsob* And then a veritable _horde_ of enablers--BelleAmante, KashiZii, Aminias, and LadyCeltic chief among them, BUT THERE WERE OTHERS, OMG--descended on me, and it grew a plot. So much fucking plot in fact, that this is now a three-part series. Part two should be posted in about a month. Don't ask me about part three. It might make me cry. 
> 
> This idea was born out my love for two wonderful things, so I smashed them together. You do not, however, need much canon knowledge of Lucifer to enjoy this one. You're welcome. I regret nothing. 
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

 

 

Stiles takes in as much of the crime scene as he can. Growing up a cop's kid means he knows there’s always more to see. The techs are trying to get evidence—not that it’ll do them much good, if this is the situation he's been keeping an eye on since day one in LA—and a blonde detective is questioning witnesses. Again, it won't get her much. Not if she doesn't already know about the supernatural.

What he can't place is the guy with her. Stiles hasn't caught a name yet, but the Hales taught him that anyone that pretty and built, moving with that much grace, isn't entirely human. He just hasn't figured out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing yet.

Before he can make up his mind on the matter, Too Pretty To Be Legal is coming his way. He weighs his options—trying to run will make him look guilty, like he knows he wasn't supposed to be there, has knowledge he doesn't want the police to know he has. Staying put might get him questioned, and that’s a whole different set of risks, depending on what this guy is.

He stays.

"Hello there, young chap. Quite interesting, innit?"

Stiles is tempted to side-eye this guy so hard. "If by 'interesting' you mean 'messy and horrifying' then yep, definitely interesting."

Too Pretty grimaces. "Yes, is rather unfortunate, the sheer amount of bodily fluids you mortals cart about."

He shuffles back half a step. A few years ago, Stiles might've been tempted to dismiss the "mortals" comment as a joke. Beacon Hills taught him better. "Right, well. I'll just take my messy fluids elsewhere, let you lovely people do your jobs."

"Mm, not so fast, darling. You didn't happen to see what nasty business went down here, now did you?"

Stiles is so, so grateful that there are no werewolf-ears listening. "Nope, didn't see a thing." He takes another shuffling step, trying to keep a bit of distance between him and the British-flavoured sex on legs.

The man mock-pouts. "It's no use lying to me, you see. I always know."

Goddamn his propensity to exaggerate. He shuffles back another step, and flails when that simply prompts Sexypants to take a rather large step forward. "I didn't see what happened here."

"Now that, I do believe."

Stiles refuses to let the sincere tone of voice or stupidly-pretty black eyes fool him. Whoever this is, whatever he is, is dangerous. "Great, so I'm just gonna—”

"Not so fast." It’s like he’s stuck. He feels floaty, disconnected from his body. He tries to panic, but is detached from his emotions. He feels his heart race as if it doesn't belong to him. "Now, tell me what you want."

"What I . . . want?" Words are clumsy on his tongue, too big for his teeth.

"Come on. Surely you must have some deeper desire that pulled you here."

He feels an answer start to crawl up his throat, but it has nothing to do with why he’s here, chasing after something he swore to his dad he'd left behind in Beacon Hills. He shakes his head.

"My, you are a strong one, aren't you?" The delight twining through the accented syllables has an effect on him that he’s glad he can't feel at the moment. "But it's alright. Tell me all about what you want most."

And then the bastard smirks, and he’s fucked. The answer rushes out before he can stop himself. "I really wanna suck your dick, among other things."

Surprise lights the stubbled features, and the strange sense of disconnection breaks, just in time for him to want it back as he goes red with mortification.

The smile carving dimples across that face is a bright, charming thing. Stiles doesn't trust it. "That's easy enough to arrange. Fancy coming back to mine? I'm not against an old-fashioned romp in an alley or an audience, but the good detective keeps threatening to arrest me for public indecency."

He has no idea what to say. He may have encountered an insane supernatural being. Before he can figure out how to respond, the blonde detective is heading their way.

"Lucifer!"

He tries to sidle out of sight as she bears down on the maybe-nutjob. Unfortunately, the detective reaches out and grips his arm. “You, don’t go anywhere.” She turns back to the person who he thinks just propositioned him. “Is he a suspect? If you find out something useful you’re supposed to get me, the actual cop.”

“And I would have, detective, but this poor chap was just in need of my sexual skill set. Nothing to do with the dead rapper a’tall.”

She lets him go like he’s burned her. “Oh my god! You’re supposed to be working! Is he even legal?” She turns to him. “Are you legal? You know what, never mind. Don’t answer that. You, vacate my crime scene. And you, you’re coming with me, because we have real work to do.”

Stiles finds himself thanking God for the blonde LEO, especially when Lucifer slips a business card into the front pocket of his jeans before being dragged off. He hightails it out of there as soon as the sounds of the detective haranguing her captive turn indistinct.

He keeps the card.

 

***

 

He researches Lucifer Morningstar, Lux, and everything associated with the two that he can dig up. It only raises more questions than answers, and firms his resolve to steer clear. First and foremost because this guy could actually _be_ the literal devil. And even if he isn’t, he’s _something_ supernatural and most likely dangerous. Something Stiles is almost certain he’ll be better off avoiding.  

Unfortunately, he can’t stop thinking about the offer. It _seemed_ sincere, but he still doesn’t think he should trust it. It would be incalculably stupid to call, he knows that.

He still can’t bring himself to throw away the card.

 

***

 

He’s drunk. It’s not an excuse. He knows this. But the curiosity is still eating away at him, and the need for answers has always been his downfall. It should surprise no one, not even himself, that this time is no different.

He’s still pretty sure it’s a bad idea, but he’s had enough alcohol to believe that the risks are worth knowing whether or not the Sexy Jerkface might actually let Stiles facetime with his sure-to-be unfairly perfect dick.

He calls.

He’s not sure what to make of the very obviously female voice snapping, “Lux, can I help you?” but decides what the hell, he’s already called and made an ass of himself, might as well do a thorough job of it.

“Hey, uh, is Lucifer around? He gave me his card.”

“He’s not, but he’ll be back sometime tonight. What do you want with him?”

Oh, the many ways he could answer that question. He tries to go with the least damning. “He, uh, propositioned me. I think.”

“How, exactly?”

He knows he’s not imaging the interest in her voice, and it’s weird, but he knew it was gonna get weird going in, and he’s old hat at weird, so he rolls with it. “I mean, I said I wanted to blow him, among other things, and he said it could be arranged, so I’m assuming sex, unless there’s some other meaning to ‘I wanna suck your dick’ that I don’t know about.”

“Perfect! Where are you? I’m gonna come get you, and then get Lucifer back here for you.”

“Uh?” He doesn’t think he should be giving random women his location. He’s pretty sure his Dad, Scott, Derek, Lydia, _and_ Peter would all disapprove of that. “How about no? I don’t even know what he _is_.”

“What did you just say?”

Fuck his life, seriously, he should never be allowed to drink without a sober adult present. “Look, never mind.”

The scarily insistent woman on the other end of the phone doesn’t let it go. “You know what he is?”

“No, I just said that. Are you drunk too?”

“You know he’s not human?”

She can’t see his eyeroll, so he layers on the sarcasm extra-thick. “Look, I don’t know how much you do or don’t know, but it takes anyone with a well-developed sense of danger about two minutes to realize that there is something _off_ about that dude.”

“You think there’s something off about him, and you want to have sex with him anyway?”

“I mean, my doubts about whether or not that was ever actually on offer is growing by the second, but yeah. Look, I said anyone with a well-developed sense of danger would know he was bad news, I said nothing about a sense of self-preservation. I’ve been told several times that I don’t have one of those.”

“D’you still wanna sleep with him or not?”

“I repeat: have you _seen_ him?”

“Okay. Head to the nearest Wendy’s, then call me back to tell me where you are. I’ll get you food, and then you can decide whether or not you want Lucifer to introduce you to a whole new world of pleasure.”

He thinks he shouldn’t, thinks it’s still probably best if he just walks away right now, but he doesn’t have it in him. Not after years of rejection and/or disinterest from beautiful people. “Yeah, okay.”

She hangs up on him without another word.

He stumbles his drunk ass to Wendy’s wondering if he’s about to make a mistake that’ll cost him his life or his pack. It’s probably telling that he doesn’t bother asking himself—or anyone else— _if_ it’s a mistake. He knows it is. He just doesn’t care. The opportunity to lose himself—and, for once, in something selfish and small and a little bit normal—is one he can’t make himself pass up. He doesn’t want to try.

He rethinks that when he sees all hundred-and-twenty-something pounds of leather-wrapped terror stride into the Wendy’s and scan the booths. Because, the thing is? He’s seen her before.

Right around when he and his pack were trying to stop the Darach from murdering everyone in town without being killed off one by one courtesy of the Alpha pack.

He tries to tell himself that she might not be looking for him. Hell, she _probably_ isn’t. The chances of her looking for him, specifically, are slim. He has no idea what the woman he spoke to on the phone looks like. He doesn’t try to convince himself that this isn’t the woman he saw a few years ago. There’s no way to misremember someone that outrageously attractive, that intimidatingly confident while showing so much skin. The fact that she moves—then and now—like Peter on the prowl seals her fate as impossible to forget.

So of course she dashes his fragile hopes by walking right up to him. “You the kid I talked to on the phone?”

He groans. “Unfortunately.”

She sprawls across from him in the booth like she owns the place. “Why unfortunately?”

He resists the urge to bang his face against the table. The one time he decides to think with his dick like a normal teenager, and the supernatural has to fuck this up, too. “Because I saw you in Beacon Hills a few years ago, and I’m pretty sure if I get in a car with you, I’m gonna wind up dead in a ditch.”

It makes the woman-shaped nightmare pause, tilt her head to stare at him. “You. You’re from that town? That explains things.”

“Yeeeeaah, you’re the only one with answers right now, and you know what’s awesome? Sharing what you know.”

She looks at him for another long minute, and he wonders if he’s gonna get an up-close look at his own intestines, but then a slow smile creeps across her face. “I like you. Tell you what, you have a good time with Lucifer tonight, and we’ll go out sometime when you’re sober. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know.”

He wants to leap on it like a cat on a laser light. He refrains. Barely. “What’s in that for you? Do you, like, watch? I’d ask if you were his pimp, but that wouldn’t make any sense for a number of reasons.”

She smirks, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve watched in the past. Participated, too. But I get that most of you humans are weird about sex. All you need to know is that I want Lucifer back to his old self—drinking and partying and having the kind of sex that leaves mortals wrecked. Having _fun_.”

Something of the fear unfurling in his gut must show in his face, because she backpedals. “He doesn’t hurt them, and neither do I. Not in ways they don’t want. I meant that he has the reputation he does for a reason.”

“So you’re telling me that Lucifer, supernatural being and possibly literal head honcho of the fiery Down There, was serious about sex with me?”

“He wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t. We leave the lying to mortals.”

He leans back in his seat and considers it. It’s still incomparably stupid, but if nothing else, he wants answers. He can even justify it by arguing that the pack _needs_ to know what the hell happened to make the Alpha pack just pick up and disappear without a trace after being very clear about wanting them all dead. “I was promised food?”

She narrows her eyes at him, like she knows it’s a deflection. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this, and I would do it more efficiently with that food I was promised. Also, I need to know how to refer to you, because ‘Nightmare in Leather’ has a few contenders back home.”

She smiles, and it’s both creepy and delighted. “You can call me Maze. What do you want?”

“Fries and a chocolate frosty, please.”

“Coming right up.” When she returns with the promised goods, she pulls out a cell phone. “So, I can call Lucifer and get him back to Lux?”

Desire and trepidation war in his guts. It’s not playing nicely with the alcohol. “I have your word that you’ll give me answers next week?”

“Deal.”

He reaches across the table. “Shake on it.” She raises an eyebrow at him, but shakes his hand.

When she feels the little zap of his Spark binding their agreement, her grip tightens. It hurts, but not as much as it very obviously could. Her other hand slips below the table, and he’d bet money it’s going for a weapon. “What did you just do?”

He stares her dead in the eyes and hopes she doesn’t kill him. “Held you to your word.”

Instead of angry, she seems intrigued, which is somehow more unsettling.  She tips her chin up, asking, “What are you?”

“Human.” At her raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “I have some magical talent.” He doesn’t think it’s smart to out himself as a Spark when he still doesn’t know for sure what she—or Lucifer—really is.

“You just get more and more interesting, don’t you?” She doesn’t break eye contact as she makes the call. “Lucifer, someone just showed up at Lux. Apparently you offered him a deal, and he’s interested in taking it.” She pauses, but he can’t hear whatever is said to her on the other end. “I wouldn’t keep this one waiting if I were you. He seems a little skittish, might bolt if you take too long.”

She smirks at him, and he ducks his head, focussing on his fries. He eats quietly, wondering how to feel about all this. He knows it’s not too soon to back out, but he wants that info. And knowing what happened can only help. The pack might’ve gotten less paranoid over time, but Stiles has never been able to shake the nagging worry that Deucalion might be back one day to finish what he started. He wonders if this deal, trading sex for information, counts as prostitution. He thinks it might, that Scott and Derek will probably see it that way, but that it shouldn’t, because this was something he wanted to do anyway, before he knew that there was potentially-vital info up for grabs in addition to the chance to get all up in Lucifer’s supernaturally-gorgeous business.

He realizes that he’s heading towards sober, and that is probably a bad idea. He doesn’t think he can go through with this sober.

“There any way I can get a drink when we get back to Lucifer’s?”

She huffs a laugh. “You’re joking. Lucifer owns the hottest club in LA. You can drink whatever you want. I won’t even card you, babyface.”

He shovels down the last of the frosty. “Sounds good. Lets get out of here.”

 

***

 

He’s had entirely too long to sit by himself and think about all the reasons why this is a terrible idea by the time Lucifer strides out of the penthouse elevator. He didn’t actually take Maze up on the offer of a drink, but is starting to wish he had—the voice in his head that sounds like Lydia refuses to be silenced. It’s made for a tense half hour.

He stands up, wondering how, exactly, he’s going to come across and what Lucifer will want in exchange, and feels his chest squeeze painfully at the expression that crosses the handsome face at the sight him.

“Bloody hell. Look, I’ve no idea what Maze said to you or threatened you with, but I assure you that you’re free to go.”

His stomach sinks. He feels immeasurably stupid. “I should’ve fucking known.” He’s so deep in his disappointment that he doesn’t register the way Lucifer’s head snaps round to him. “I mean, yeah, no, why would you want that with me?” He meets the bemused gaze. “So, c’mon then, out with it. What did you actually want me for? If its bait, good fucking luck to you, my pack isn’t expecting me back for weeks, and if it’s my magic, wow did you ever pick the wrong person to try and con. I know it’s not my soul, if you even actually trade in those, because I’m pretty sure it’s gonna wind up in your hands eventually.”

“While I quite enjoy your fire—there’s not many who would cuss the devil out to his face—I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.”

Stiles channels Derek and gives his most impressive glare. “I’m talking about the fact that you pulled some kind of hypnosis on me at a crime scene, made me confess to wanting blow you, and then slipped me your card while saying ‘that can be arranged’.”

“Oh, that was you!”

He goes on as if he didn’t hear. “But since, y’know, I’m me and you’re literal Satan, there’s not a single good reason why you’d actually follow through, which means this was a giant bait-and-switch. So if you could let me know what the switch was, I can tell you to go back to hell and then go back to my life.”

Naked wonder looks just as good on Lucifer’s face as the smile had, it turns out. “You know who I am?”

He gives his best ‘well, duh’ face. “We have your knock-off back home. Favours V-necks.”  

“You know what I am, and you still called? Did Maze put you up to this?”

“ _Are you fucking listening_?”

Lucifer turns, his expression gently sincere. “Not at all.”

Shame and anger and disappointment are clawing up his insides. “Right, well, this has been distinctly unpleasant, so I’m gonna go. Thanks for absolutely nothing.”

He makes to slide past Lucifer on his way to the elevator, but is stopped by a hand on his chest. There’s no force behind it, either physical or supernatural. It scares him. “Why not stay a while, let me make good on my offer, yes?”

“No.”

The refusal seems to shock him, and he removes his hand. Stiles tells himself he’s glad. “No? Why ever not?”

He looks Lucifer dead in the eye. “Because I’m not interested in what it’ll cost me.”

That bright grin is back. “You’ve got it all wrong! That’s not how this works.”

He swallows down the sour taste in his mouth. “Great. Just great. Answer’s still no. There’s no amount of money you could pay me to change my mind, either. My dad’s a cop, I know exactly how often hookers end up dead.”

Lucifer rears back, mouth dropping open in shock. “Do I look like the kind of man who has to pay for sex?”

Stiles gives a little smirk, pleased that he’s finally managed to get under this guy’s skin, and injects as much venom into his voice as he can. “We both know there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Lucifer seems to really look at him for the first time, and extends a hand. Stiles catches it before it makes contact with his face, fingers locking around a wrist he’s sure he can’t actually hold before he’s had time to think about the consequences. For a moment, neither move. Stiles barely breathes, wondering if he’s gonna get out of this in one piece.

Lucifer is the one to break the silence. “What on Earth happened to you?”

Stiles huffs a laugh that sounds hollow even to himself, stepping back and releasing Lucifer’s arm. “Too much. Everything. Beacon Hills—take your pick.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” If he’s sidling closer to the elevator and the ability to escape, that’s his business.

“Why you know who I am and aren’t afraid to give me a right proper tongue-lashing in my own home while still somehow expecting the absolute worst of me. But, before you go—and yes, darling, I will let you leave if that’s what you want—tell me this: before you saw Maze, before you came here and started to second-guess yourself, what did you want?” Stiles wonders if this is another mindfuck like the one back at the crime scene. It must show on his face, because Lucifer’s eyes soften. “No tricks this time. Devil’s honour.”

He breaks eye contact, swallowing as he stares out the window. Thinks about what was running through his booze-addled brain before drunk-dialling the devil. “I just. I wanted to feel good.”

Lucifer nods, taking a careful step forward. “And does coaxing other people to pleasure do that for you?”

He glances at Lucifer, then looks away again. Shame is still partying in his guts, but the anger has been replaced by isolation and memories of rejection. It makes him feel a little cold. “I mean, yeah, sometimes. It was more the fact that you wanted me back, that you seemed willing to let me do that for you, that you might want more than to just have me suck you off.”

Lucifer moves into his space, reaching for his face again. This time, he holds himself still, waits to see what happens. He still doesn’t make eye contact. The hand that cups his face is gentle, the skin soft. “Sweetheart, desire is what I know best. You’re allowed to want pleasure, to follow your desires.”

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move as Lucifer leans in. He shivers, though, at the feeling of lips dragging along his jaw, up to his ear. “Tell me what you want most. The craving that just won’t leave you alone. There’ll be no judgement from me, I can promise you that.”

He lets his head tilt to the side, offers up more skin for those lips to glide over as he thinks about how to answer that. He knows what he wants, and thinks this might be the best opportunity he has to get it, but—“What’ll it cost me?”

Lucifer pulls back, cradling his face between long-fingered hands to meet his eyes. It means he can’t miss the teasing smile or the way Lucifer’s eyebrows arch. “Enough boldness to be honest with me, and some willingness to lose sleep.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He lets his eyes slip shut and sighs, releasing some of the tension that had him nearly vibrating in place. He sucks in another deep breath, and watches Lucifer carefully as he slides himself into the devil’s personal space. Lucifer quirks his lips, amused, and rests a hand on the small of his back. The touch is light, so different from the way all the wolves back home handle him. He thinks he might start trembling, which is stupid, but his body doesn’t know up from down anymore, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Instead of thinking about it, he wraps an arm around Lucifer’s waist and rests his head on one broad shoulder. He’s tall, taller than just about everyone back home, but Lucifer’s got him solidly beat. It’s oddly comforting to be able to hide in someone’s shoulder like this, and that feeling only gets stronger when Lucifer’s other hand cups the back of his head.

“C’mon, little spitfire. Tell me what you desire.”

He feels his cheeks heat, and knows that Lucifer can probably feel it, too. He doesn’t lift his head. “Like I said, I mostly just wanted to feel good. I’ve had sex before, but not often and it’s always this rushed, oh-my-god-we’re-alive thing.”

“Well, I plan on being thorough, so you needn’t worry about that with me.”

He doesn’t answer that—he figures the way his face burns even hotter says enough. “And, uh. I haven’t really gotten lucky with dudes? Not aside from like, making out and a handjob one time.”

The hand at the back of his head skates down his spine. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been denied the opportunity to explore the wonders of gay sex? That is a travesty I am determined to set right.”

He groans. The most embarrassing part is how sincere Lucifer sounds. Christ on a fucking cracker, the _literal devil_ thinks his sex life is a travesty. He really doesn’t think it can get any worse.

And then Lucifer says, “I’d ask you what you prefer, but I don’t suppose you’d know. So we’ll just have to try everything and see what you like,” and proves him wrong.

“I, um. Have some idea,” he mumbles.

“Do you now? Well, come on now, out with it!”

He knows that Lucifer probably isn’t trying to humiliate him. There’s nothing but honest delight in his voice, but still. The embarrassment is real. “If, like, getting fucked is on the table here, I’d want to bottom.”

He feels his heart stutter when the hand at the small of his back drifts down to cup his ass. The sound he makes is _not_ a squeak. “Not that I wouldn’t love to introduce you to that exquisite pleasure, but it is rather the deep end, darling.” He squirms when the tips of Lucifer’s fingers drift lower, teasing at where they’d spread him open if he can persuade the devil to give him what he wants. The hand at his lower back firms, holding him against Lucifer’s chest as the teasing touches continue. “You ever play with yourself back here?”

He gasps out a yes, too turned on to be self-conscious. He’s clutching at Lucifer as he twitches and tries not to grind against the devil’s leg. He doesn’t want to come in his pants, not when there are so many other delicious options available to him.

Lucifer’s face dips to nibble at his neck, and he can’t help the whine he gives. “Be a good boy, now, and tell me all about it.”

It’s a struggle to find words. He just wants more of this, more lips and teeth and big hands playing his body like a baby grand piano. “F-fingers, usually.”

Lucifer’s voice is darker, huskier when he murmurs, “And?”

“I h-have a toy.” He’s rewarded with a firmer touch to his inner thigh, one that makes his hips buck.

“Do you now?”

It’s a prompt if ever he’s heard one, and he can’t think of a single reason not to tell Lucifer what he wants to know. “It’s not all that b-big.” He gasps when Lucifer’s hand slides under his shirts, at the feel of skin-on-skin. “Probably smaller than a real c-cock, but I know I like it. Know I wanna know what it’s like.”

“Well, consider it yours, then.”

“Please?”

Something of his desperation must come through, because Lucifer’s hands return to his face. “It’s alright, darling. You can have anything you desire. But there’s no need to rush. We can take our time, enjoy everything along the way. How would you like to start?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He’s ridiculously turned on. He wants everything—how is he supposed to pick just one?

Lucifer seems to intuit his dilemma. “Right then, couch first. You can sit in my lap while we get to know each other a little better.”

And, oh, Stiles is 1000% on board with that. Even if he is a little awkward when he tries to get into the devil’s lap. Luckily, Lucifer has experience to burn here, and settles him easily. He’d be lying if he said straddling the strong thighs doesn’t make him leak a little in his jeans.

And then one of those hands is sliding up his neck and into his hair, guiding him into a kiss. It’s soft, so much softer than what he was expecting. It’s the kind of kiss that’s easy to sink into. So he does—lets his eyes slip shut and his arms wrap around Lucifer’s shoulders, lets their lips glide together sweet and easy. Some of the tense anticipation melts away when hands slide back under his shirts, fingers tracing up his stomach, his ribs.

But he gets uneasy when Lucifer starts peeling him out of his flannel overshirt. And, of course, dude says something. “I have to say, darling, while sex can be had with clothes on, it tends to be much more enjoyable with them off.”

He spends a few long seconds swallowing and breathing, jaw tense, before he moves to let Lucifer finish pulling it off him. “No judgement,” he rasps, proud of the way he sounds sure, like it’s not the question it absolutely is.

Lucifer’s eyebrows arch in disbelief. “Whatever would I judge you for?”

Rather than respond verbally, he grips the back of his tee and hauls it off, too. And then he waits. Braces himself for an insensitive remark or a barrage of questions or a knowing smirk.

Lucifer does none of those things.

Instead, his big hands slide round to cup Stiles’s shoulder blades as he drops kisses across the exposed collarbones and murmurs, “Has anyone ever told you you’re gorgeous?” The heat in his voice causes a blush.

“You have some strange beauty standards, then.”

Lucifer leans back to give him a face that clearly says “go on”. He gestures at himself, at the ink he knows is downright ugly in places, but not all magic is beautiful and he’s never been afraid of necessary evils if they keep his loved ones alive a few more days. He doesn’t bother to point out the claw-marks that slant over his belly from ribcage to hip on the left side; they’re healed, but are still the deep purple of new scars. They’re impossible to miss, and look like exactly what they are—an attempted evisceration.

He’s human and morally ambiguous when desperate, and it shows.

“Why would I look down on you for your tenacity? It’s a rather attractive quality.”

He feels like he can’t breathe. “What?”

Lucifer studies his face for a moment. “You don’t honestly believe I’d think less of you, do you? These are a little risky, when it comes to keeping my father’s favour,” he brushes fingertips against the ink running down Stiles’s arm, “but since you obviously worked the spells in defense of others, I can assure you he’ll let it slide.”

He needs a minute to digest that. He swallows, mouth dry. “So, you—you recognize them?”

Lucifer gives a wicked smile. “Think about who you’re talking to, darling.”

He nods. Lucifer is immortal. He needs to stop forgetting that. Which just leaves—“You’re not, uh, bothered? By these?” He lays a hand over the scars on his belly.

“Bothered by the fact that you survived what should’ve killed you, allowing me to show you all the wonders you’ve been missing? Deeply.”

Lucifer gives him a cheeky grin, and he can’t help returning it. He shouldn’t find this much sass attractive, but, well. He definitely does. It’s why he’s a little thrown when Lucifer’s expression sobers, going thoughtful as he deftly unbuttons his silk shirt. “Lucifer?”

“You’re not the only one with scars, you know.” And then Lucifer is guiding his hands to rest on smooth skin. Skin that has no scars he can feel or see. He raises his eyebrows. “Round the back, toward my shoulders.” It’s said nonchalantly, but Stiles has become fluent in Hale, and he recognizes vulnerability when he sees it, even if it’s buried under six feet of deflection.

It’s why he leans forward, drawing Lucifer into a kiss as he lets his hands track up the devil’s back. It doesn’t take long to find them, and he feels Lucifer stiffen, but he doesn’t break the kiss as he carefully traces the ragged edge of scar tissue. He thinks he knows what these are, but doesn’t ask. It’s not his place—and, if some of the stories are true, he thinks the devil may not want to be reminded of what was lost in the Fall. So he lets his hands rest just below the jut of Lucifer’s shoulder blades, and asks, “Do they hurt?”

Lucifer stares like he’s not sure what to make of the boy in his lap. His voice is soft when he replies. “No. Do yours?”

Stiles pulls away a little. Just enough to slip his hands free of Lucifer’s clothing, for his spine to straighten. He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Well, if anything we do aggravates them, be sure to let me know. I’m not interested in causing pain that isn’t pleasurable.”

He snorts. “Pretty sure there’s no such thing, so no worries on that front.”

Lucifer grips the back of his neck, holding him in place as teeth nip along his jaw. “Oh, how wrong you are, darling. I’d be happy to prove it to you, but perhaps some other time. For now,” Lucifer’s other hand pops the button of his jeans, “let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?”

His hips jerk at the barely-there touch. “Only if you join the naked party.”

“But of course.” And then Lucifer’s hands are on his butt and back as the dick stands up, bringing Stiles with him.

He lets out a squeak of surprise as his limbs reflexively tighten around the only thing holding him up. It also makes his dick jerk, and—judging by the chuckle in his ear—Lucifer can feel it where they’re pressed together. He grumbles and slides to his feet. He’s not graceful about it, but he doesn’t fall over, so he’s counting it as a win.

And then he’s watching, entranced, as Lucifer efficiently strips out of his shoes, socks, slacks, and underwear. If he hadn’t known Lucifer was supernatural before, he would now. No human is naturally that gorgeous. Licking his lips, he starts to sink to his knees, only to have his elbows caught mid-descent. He looks up into Lucifer’s questioning expression, and stands before the crouch gets uncomfortable.

“Uh, am I not allowed to blow you? I kinda thought that was part of the deal here.”

Lucifer’s eyes stay locked with his, even as he undoes the fly of Stiles’s jeans and pushes them down. “You are allowed to do whatever you desire, but let me make one thing very, very clear—you don’t owe me anything. Understand?”

He ducks his head under the pretense of needing to kick off his shoes. “I mean, me saying I wanna suck your dick was how this whole thing started.”

“Yes, and if you want to, it’ll be my pleasure to let you. But I get the impression there are other things you want rather more.”

His shoulders climb up to his ears as his face heats. Worse, he knows the blush is gonna travel, and without his layers, there’s no way to hide it. He nods anyway.

“Right then. There’ll be lots of time for you to wrap your pretty lips round me, but for now, let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?”

He follows Lucifer, paying more attention to the devil’s ass than where he’s going, so it’s a minor miracle he doesn’t trip. But he pauses in the doorway. There’s a squirmy feeling in his gut that he can’t quantify, and his heartbeat is tripping over itself. Lucifer must see something in his expression, because before he can riddle it out or get cold feet, he’s being guided across the room, and back into Lucifer’s lap. Only this time, there aren’t any clothes in the way.

He feels exposed—ridiculous as that sounds, because he’s pressed so close Lucifer can’t really see anything below his collarbones right now—but he likes it. He kisses Lucifer again, moaning when the devil’s hands roam over his skin and make goosebumps rise. He’s fully hard again in no time, unable to keep from rocking his hips as their kisses drag on. When he breaks for air, Lucifer latches onto his throat, biting and sucking and his breath hitches because it’s so fucking good. His head lolls back, eyes falling shut. It’s why he squeaks when they move—he’s suddenly flat on his back, Lucifer overtop of him with his legs wrapped around narrow hips.

It makes him swallow. He wants, but this is still uncharted territory, and that makes him hesitate.

Lucifer has no such qualms, rummaging with one hand in the night table drawer while kissing down his torso. His breath hitches when Lucifer doesn’t pause, pulling Stiles’s cock into his mouth. He struggles not to buck his hips, one hand carding shakily through Lucifer’s hair because he needs to touch, to make sure this real.

Lucifer pulls away just long enough to shoot him a grin, saying, “It’s alright, darling, pull if you need, I quite enjoy it,” before sucking him down again.

Stiles times his breaths, trying not to come too soon, because this is amazing. Perks to sleeping with an immortal being, he supposes. Or it could just be that no one’s ever savoured his cock like it was the last Popsicle in the middle of an August heatwave.

That task gets even harder when long fingers start spreading slick between his cheeks. He whines, throwing his legs as far apart as they’ll go, wanting them in him, wanting everything Lucifer’s promised to give. He chokes a little, clutching at the black strands between his fingers when the first finger eases inside. It goes slow, but he wasn’t lying when he said he likes fingering himself—he knows how to open up for this, loves the sensation of it.

The second digit sliding in alongside the first still makes him shout. Lucifer’s fingers are long, and elegant, but still thick. Thicker than his own for sure. Lucifer pushes deep before crooking them while fluttering his tongue and giving a hard suck, making him jackknife. “Wait!”

Lucifer lifts his head, but leaves his fingers where they are. “Everything alright?”

He’s shaking, so he leans back on his elbows. “Yeah, yeah, just—I was gonna come if you kept doing that.”

Unholy glee paints Lucifer’s features, and Stiles is not surprised. He can’t take it, and flops back onto the bed, but he’s not surprised. “That’s the point!”

He huffs at the ceiling. “I thought you said I was gonna get to bottom?”

Lucifer crooks his fingers again, and Stiles jerks, gasping, to look at him. “And you will. But I want you to come for me first.”

“I don’t—I wanna come with you in me.” Because he does. He doesn’t even have words for how much he wants that.

The grin he gets is sly. “Silly chap. Did you think you would only come the once?”

He licks his dry lips. “Yes?” he rasps.

Lucifer hums. “You’ll be coming more than once,” he says matter-of-factly, and then he’s swallowing Stiles down to the base, and sweet Jesus, this isn’t gonna last long.

He still tries to hold off as long as possible, because this is probably the only romp he’ll get with Lucifer, and he wants to make the most of it. But his hips are twitching and Lucifer’s fingers are trying to map his insides, and the perfect combination of suction and tongue doesn’t let up either, so it’s a lost cause. His abs tighten and he clutches at Lucifer’s hair as comes, shaking. Lucifer swallows it down, and it might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He’s jelly-limbed after, panting like he’s just run for his life. Lucifer slides off his dick slowly, like he’s reluctant to let it go, and it makes arousal flicker despite how spent he his. He gives a gentle tug at the hair he’s still got his hand in, and Lucifer comes up willingly to kiss him.

Stiles would’ve thought the kiss would be hungry, bitey and deep as he licked his own come out of Lucifer’s mouth, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. This—this is soft. Lucifer just brushes their mouths together at first. It isn’t until Stiles whines for more that he sucks Stiles’s bottom lip, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It makes him clench around the fingers Lucifer still has in him, and that, in turn, makes his mouth drop open with a moan.

He’s still riding the high of his orgasm, so he isn’t oversensitive yet, but he’s walking that line. Lucifer seems to understand that, twisting his fingers slowly, and the pleasure of the stretch is one more high note in the Hallelujah chorus that is his body right now. They kiss lazily, because Stiles isn’t able to do a whole lot more than respond weakly.

After a while, his body quits buzzing and the fingers inside him stop feeling intensely good, and start feeling like an impending heart attack. He grips Lucifer’s wrist and tries to heave in a deep enough breath to speak, but the devil might be a mind reader, because he doesn’t have to say anything at all. “Alright, darling. I’ll leave off for now.”

He melts into the bed when Lucifer’s fingers ease out. “Thanks.”

And then Lucifer lies next to him, propped up on one arm, dick poking Stiles in the thigh. “Oh, don’t thank me yet. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

He squeaks when a wandering hand rubs his nipple. He’s still a little too sensitive for that. So he rolls over, and wiggles down the bed until he’s facing the cock that is just as unfairly pretty as the rest of the body it belongs to. He gives an experimental lick and then looks up to make sure Lucifer’s on board, though he doesn’t why know dude wouldn’t be.

Lucifer smiles gently at him. “Tuck your arm under your head so your neck doesn’t ache—there you go.” As soon as he’s positioned, Lucifer drapes a leg over him. It should feel heavy, claustrophobic, but instead, it just feels like he’s being held.

He doesn’t dwell on how much he likes that, instead focussing on the dick in front of him. He hasn’t done this before, so he experiments. He knows better than to think that he’s going to be as good as Lucifer, but might well learn as much as he can while he’s here, right?

Lucifer is surprisingly helpful, petting his hair gently and coaching him through. He’ll hum, or make breathy groans when Stiles gets something right—and it was magical to hear that sound when he fluttered his tongue—but he manages to keep his hips still, so Stiles doesn’t worry about choking while trying to get a decent rhythm going.

He has to stop before too long, his jaw getting sore and his tongue tired. He’ll have to work on it—assuming he can find partners willing to let him practise. Luckily, Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind, dragging him up to kiss him again. When he breaks away to pant for air, Lucifer mouths along his jaw. “You ready for more?”

He shivers, because he doesn’t know if his body can handle more, but he wants it anyway. He nods. Lucifer grins, and rolls them so he’s flat on his back and Lucifer is hovering over him on one arm. He lets himself be distracted with sweet, shallow kisses as Lucifer finishes stretching him out. It feels like it takes for-fucking-ever, long enough that he’s hard again and about thirty seconds away from begging when Lucifer decides he’s been adequately prepped, and rolls away to put on a condom.

“Come on, darling, in my lap.”

It takes him entirely too long to understand what’s going on. That Lucifer wants him to, well. Go for a ride. He can feel his already-warm face heat further as he straddles Lucifer’s hips. He gets an encouraging nod when he braces his hands on the broad chest, and Lucifer guides him into position.

He nibbles on his bottom lip, jittery. He knows why Lucifer has him on top—it gives him control of the speed and depth, ensures his comfort as much as possible—but he can’t help feeling like he’s on display. There’s nowhere to hide like this.

He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Lets Lucifer guide him down and back, and his mouth drops open at the push. He stops, choking on a moan when the head pops inside.

“That’s it, just breathe. There’s no rush.”

He wonders why hearing that makes him leak a little, but doesn’t really care right now. He focusses on sinking down slowly, until he’s taken all of Lucifer in. It’s not a quick process, and he’s gazing unseeing at the ceiling, panting, by the time he manages, but it’s worth it. The heat and fullness, the feel of the body underneath him, the fingertips tracing circles on his thighs and making his skin tingle, is worth it.

“You’re incredibly beautiful like this.”

His head drops, and he sputters. The craziest part is that Lucifer seems sincere, and he . . . doesn’t know how to deal with that. Luckily, the devil takes pity on him, and rocks his hips up. Just a little. Just enough to make his breath catch and his eyes flutter closed.

He takes the hint, and spends a couple clumsy minutes trying to figure out how to move, how far he can lean, what works and what doesn’t. But once he figures out that a steady rolling motion is what he’s after, he sticks to it and doesn’t stop. He’s leaning down, hands braced on Lucifer’s chest, and it’s so good, but he’s shaking all over. He keeps at it, couldn’t stop if he tried, the perfect drag inside him more satisfying than he’d imagined.

He wants a hand on his cock more than he wants air right now, because he’s pretty sure that if his poor, oozing erection could get a little stimulation, he’d be able to come. But he nearly topples when he tries, too unsteady to support himself on just one hand. He whines, “Please,” hoping Lucifer will know what he means by it.

And it seems he does, because he immediately wraps one of those big hands around Stiles’s cock, stroking slowly. It’s good, it’s so good, and he’s pushing himself, but he can’t force himself across the finish line and his legs are burning and cramping. He slumps against Lucifer’s chest, gulping in air and shaking all over and desperate to come.

“It’s alright, darling. You take a breath and then I’ll finish us off.”

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. He whimpers out an affirmative-ish sound. It’s all he’s capable of. He doesn’t even protest when Lucifer rolls him onto his back, helping him stretch his legs. When Lucifer starts rocking, he clutches at the devil’s shoulders.

It’s perfect. He’s covered with Lucifer’s body, both his hands free to roam and touch and hold on, and Lucifer’s hips are working in a blissful rhythm—steady, not too fast, not too slow. He wants this—legs splayed around the beautiful creature that touches him gently and kisses him sweetly and pushes as much pleasure into him as he can take—to last forever.

It doesn’t. His erection is trapped between their bellies, and between being able to melt into the bed, the friction, and the magic of Lucifer’s cock, he comes again. Hard. So hard he doesn’t realize, at first, that Lucifer thrusts a little harder, chasing his own release, but still careful. Still aware of Stiles’s limits.

He lays there for a long time afterward, trying to sort through what it means, that The Devil, Actually, could treat him with so much kindness and care. He doesn’t notice he’s drifting to sleep, and Lucifer doesn’t wake him.

 

***

 

He slips out of bed the next morning, and he really, _really_ doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t want to leave, but he’s afraid of what it means if he stays. He doesn’t think Lucifer is interested in more than his body, but he can’t handle hearing it confirmed right now. He makes his way out of the penthouse, but freezes when he sees Maze downstairs.

She beckons him toward her, and he goes. “Give me your number.” He obediently rattles it off, and she nods, saving it into her cellphone. “I’ll be in touch about that information you wanted.”

“Thanks.”

He waits outside for a cab, wondering what he’ll learn from her. How, exactly, Lucifer’s existence altered the course of his life before last night. Even if he finds out nothing of value, that spotting Maze was sheer coincidence—which he doubts, but _if_ —he doesn’t regret taking Lucifer up on his offer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that is 5 WIPs down, and 6 to go. What is rest. 
> 
> As a final note: this is heavily canon divergent. Introducing the Lucifer peeps to the TW ones changed some major things, which are hinted at here but not explored in depth. More on that to come.


End file.
